The Good Kind of Wrong
by Raelien
Summary: TFP, Breakdown/Knock Out - Breakdown's had a thing for his partner for a long time, but he's okay with nothing coming of it. That is, until Knock Out, severely over-energized, becomes determined to make his life difficult. Kink meme response fic.
1. Part 1

**Warnings:** Eventual DUB-CON (in the sense that an individual is incapable of consenting while intoxicated, but not in any other sense), eventual sticky, poorly written drunkenness, and shameless clichés.

This was originally a kink meme fill for a prompt by the lovely JenKristo. It's the first Transformers fic I've posted in about ten years, so treat me gently. ; )

The setting is deliberately vague, so you could place it anywhere between "Orion Pax" and "Crossfire" within the canon timeline or, my personal favorite, in an AU that diverges from "Crossfire"—whichever you prefer.

* * *

Part 1

When Lord Megatron had declared in a voice rich with satisfaction that a celebration was in order—a justified but certainly atypical bout of good humor—Breakdown could never have imagined that the evening would end up like _this_.

There'd certainly been plenty of cause for celebration. With the day's massive haul, they'd had to expand energon storage to a second bay after the first had been piled high with the glowing cubes. That two of the Autobots would undoubtedly be laid up in medbay for a while was a nice bonus. That one of the two was Bulkhead was, to Breakdown, best of all.

So yes, the party of sorts made sense. The abundance of energon also made sense. What Breakdown couldn't figure out was how he'd gone from engaging a group of vehicons in increasingly inane conversation to leaning against the wall of the rarely used assembly hall, Knock Out clinging to his arm and complaining that no one appreciated all the effort he went through to maintain his finish (in spite of this planet's efforts to sabotage him) except for Breakdown. And Breakdown _did_ appreciate his efforts, right?

"Um, yeah. Of course."

"Mmm. It's lucky I always have you around, then, isn't it? All these drones couldn't tell a chamois from a— From a—" He made a frustrated prompting motion with his other hand, dangerously sloshing the remnants of energon left in the cube he held.

"From a neoprene tarp?"

"_Yes_. Couldn't tell a chamois from a— a _that_. Thank you, Breakdown," he said with a small smile of relief. His grip on his partner's arm tightened a bit further, and Breakdown tensed a bit more in turn.

Knock Out knocked back the rest of his cube all at once, then stared at it a moment as if he could make it refill itself through sheer force of will. When this failed to occur, he suddenly detached his arm from his partner's, proclaimed that he would return shortly, and went off in search of another cube, his step a bit unsteady but his head held high.

Breakdown watched him walk away until he made himself avert his eye. He forced himself to relax a bit; having that sleek, red chassis pressed up against him had wound him up tight enough to cut straight through the mild buzz running through his systems.

Sure, he'd consumed his fair share of the energon being passed around, but it took a lot to get a mech his size significantly over-energized. A mech of Knock Out's stature, on the other hand, wouldn't have any trouble racing right through "buzzed" straight into "in danger of emergency intake shut down."

Perhaps because of this, Knock Out had never really seemed one to indulge in excessive energon. In the long time Breakdown had known him, he'd never consumed more than was necessary to keep his systems in prime condition. When he wanted stress relief, he polished himself, he raced, or he took something (often some_one_) apart.

It seemed the constant tiptoeing around temperamental superiors was getting to him, however. Following Megatron's announcement, the medic had responded with an uncharacteristic bit of enthusiasm at the prospect of unrestricted energon—he'd made an aside to his partner: "I could go for a little soirée, actually. It'll be nice to dispense with higher cerebral functions for a while after three orns straight surrounded by whack-jobs of every sort. No, not you, Breakdown."

Not long after, some vehicons had brought out the energon and set up a heater to liquidize it, somebody had put on some nondescript background music, and Knock Out had proceeded to down two cubes in short succession. He'd eventually wandered back to the blue mech, presumably for lack of better company. Realizing that somebody should probably look after the medic, if only to make sure he didn't break out his saw or drill while intoxicated, Breakdown had excused himself from the cluster of soldiers to devote his full attention to him. He'd been surprised—pleasantly or unpleasantly, he still couldn't decide—when Knock Out had grown increasingly…_affectionate_ towards him as the evening wore on. It had started with short, light touches of the medic's fingers and then become lingering strokes up and down his assistant's torso. Now Breakdown was sure he'd had his aft groped at least twice.

He didn't understand it. Knock Out had _never_ shown an interest in him. He'd looked for any indication (Primus, had he looked), but the ostentatious mech had always seemed to flirt with everyone except him. There'd been the standard show of flamboyance when they'd first met, before Breakdown had come to appreciate the mech beyond the vanity and snark, but even that had dropped off as soon as Knock Out had had an actual chance to interact with him. Back on Cybertron and across several Decepticon outposts, Breakdown had been left waving an unenthusiastic farewell to his partner, more times than he could count, as said partner headed off to get his kicks with some nameless performance model. Knock Out would only pause long enough to offer a quick assurance that he'd see Breakdown in the morning.

Surely, if Knock Out had found him at all appealing, he would have made a move on the mech most readily available to him by now. Breakdown had accepted this. Still, being around the medic was never dull. He assisted in medbay operations when he could, and he watched his partner's back—and admittedly some other parts—in and out of combat. He was content.

But why had Knock Out suddenly deemed him worthy of that kind of attention as soon as the extra charge hit his systems? All Breakdown could figure was that not only had the energon lowered some standards, but Knock Out probably considered him his sole option this particular night. With only drones, the crew the doctor had apparently had enough of, and Breakdown for him to choose from, it did kind of make sense.

Breakdown realized abruptly that this was likely his only chance.

Was he really that pathetic, though, that he'd sink to what amounted to taking advantage of his friend? Admittedly, if he knew Knock Out as well as he though he did, chances were good that the medic wouldn't really mind come morning, but that still didn't make it okay. Besides, Breakdown was doing fine dealing with the attraction he felt towards his partner—what if an actual interface made everything worse? If it made his day to day communication with the smaller mech awkward enough to affect their working relationship?

Decision made, Breakdown braced himself when Knock Out started heading back toward him with two new cubes in hand.

"Don't think you can leave me the only one drinking," he said as he approached, giving an indicating jerk to the stacked cubes and assuming a challenging smirk. The top cube slid precariously to the side, though it thankfully didn't topple off. Breakdown huffed a short sigh but was quick to relieve his partner of the unstable cube.

When Knock Out sidled up to him, however, the medic overbalanced a bit and leaned into Breakdown too sharply. The larger mech was eventually able to shift his cube to his right hand and supply a steadying grip to Knock Out's shoulder with his left, but not before sloshing a substantial amount of energon over both his hands and arms; Knock Out himself emerged unscathed.

In the doctor's current state, this was apparently hilarious. Leaning against Breakdown's side a bit more steadily this time, he let out a loud, ringing laugh that gradually diminished but continued on until he tried to take another gulp of energon, at which point his intakes faltered, and he coughed a few times instead.

The blue mech considered giving him some pats to the back to help the process along, but he seemed to be doing fine on his own, and it'd just result in more energon spilled everywhere anyway.

Once Knock Out had straightened up with a low sigh, his sights fell back to and lingered on the glowing fuel splattered over Breakdown's closer hand and forearm.

The considering raise of a brow plate and a quick flash of Knock Out's optics were the only warning Breakdown had before the smaller mech was raising the large hand to his face and licking the energon off, glossa working between the digits and teasing the joints.

Breakdown's vents stuttered. Either his willpower was going to give out, or this was going to be a _really_ long night. The blue mech was jolted to action when the medic moved to take one of Breakdown's digits into his mouth.

"No!"

Knock Out paused and stared up at him with an inquisitive noise, Breakdown's fingertip still held between his lips.

He carefully but hastily extracted his hand from the medic's grip. "It's fine! Really, I've got a rag I can use in storage—" After setting his cube down on the floor, he pulled said rag from a compartment in his chest and wiped off as much of the energon as he could, though some still lingered stubbornly and glowed in his joints and seams. He'd have to wait until he got to the washracks before he could rinse it out.

Once he had his partner's attention again, Knock Out made a show of licking his lips. Breakdown found this unsurprising, as the medic made a show of everything. Unfortunately, he also found it undeniably enticing.

The red mech just smirked at him. "Whazza matter, Breakdown? You seem kinda flustered."

Breakdown narrowed his optic down at his counterpart, steeling himself into a temporary semblance of calm. "That's the last cube you're getting."

Knock Out's expression quickly morphed from smug to affronted to something that disturbingly resembled a pout.

The blue mech blinked and had to look away. It was too strange.

As he looked around for something to distract him, his gaze fell upon Lord Megatron gesturing animatedly to Soundwave at the front of the room. Breakdown had made a point of avoiding any officers tonight, Knock Out excluded, since he had no desire to see what they were like when over-energized. Even on a normal day, he really preferred the company of the grunts to that of the others; they tended to be less, well, crazy. And as much as he respected their leader, he'd heard rumors that the warlord tended to become both nostalgic and more excitable when inebriated. The blue mech didn't doubt that Soundwave was keeping an eye on Megatron in much the same way Breakdown was Knock Out—except Soundwave probably didn't have Megatron pawing at him.

When Breakdown turned back to his partner, Knock Out had begun sipping sullenly at his cube, and with him at least temporarily occupied, the blue mech embraced the momentary peace and retrieved his own from the floor. He leaned back against the wall and took a few slow swigs.

The somewhat amiable silence stretched between them for a breem.

"This is the first time we've been off duty at the same time since we started on this ship, y'know," the medic remarked.

Not counting designated recharge time and the unapproved joyrides Knock Out had taken, Breakdown supposed it was. Their interaction was always when they were on medbay duty, on patrol, or on a mission. "It is, isn't it? Hopefully it's not a one-off thing."

"Hopefully." The medic raised his cube in Breakdown's direction.

Breakdown humored him with a smile and reciprocated the gesture, and they both drank. The blue mech went ahead and finished off the rest of his cube while he was at it.

It was about that time when the medic suddenly paused in between gulps and made a face. Breakdown tilted his head in question, but Knock Out just pressed on and went to take another swallow. He quickly seized up with an odd choking sound, however, and began spluttering and heaving shallowly until the energon of that last gulp was running down his chin.

Breakdown offered him the faintly glowing, energon-stained rag from before. "That alert you ignored? Probably trying to tell you your tanks are maxed." It was official: the doctor was done drinking for the evening—though it'd probably take a short while for the last of what he drank to kick in.

Cybertronians were hardy beings, and their systems were capable of handling excess energon intake when the fuel was readily available. They couldn't do so without detriment, though. Surplus charge could have dangerous effects on the more delicate systems, so as the charge built, they were gradually shut down for their own protection, to be onlined again when the energy levels dropped a bit—the first to be affected was the sub-section of the processor responsible for higher thought processes and fine motor control. There were limits to both tank capacity and the amount of systems one could practically shut down, however, so whichever one a mech encountered first triggered an automatic valve shut off in the fuel intake line.

The medic snatched the cloth away and started agitatedly scrubbing at his chin and chest. "But I'm running _fine_," he whined.

Sure he was. "Maybe, but there's only so much energon you can fit in your body. You know that."

The medic made an undignified snorting noise, letting the cleaning rag fall carelessly to the floor when he was done with it. "Guess so. You take this, then." He moved to push his half-full cube into Breakdown's unoccupied hand.

"Uh, I'm good. Thanks anyway." He had no desire to try and get blitzed, after all—especially now—so he'd really had enough for the evening.

"Well, I don't want it in front of me. I can't drink it."

Knock Out gave a scrutinizing check of their surroundings and waved at an eradicon that had wandered nearby. "Hey, you! You there."

The drone, startled, looked around himself to see who else the medic could be addressing. When he found no one, he came a bit closer and shot a questioning look at Breakdown, who was still standing beside his counterpart.

The blue mech recognized the eradicon from a dent in his shoulder as one he sometimes spoke to during patrol duty. He gave an awkward little wave.

"Go dispose of these," Knock Out continued to the drone, grabbing at Breakdown's empty cube and holding them both out insistently. The eradicon approached with some hesitation, took them, and then proceeded to make himself scarce at the medic's shooing motion.

Knock Out, clearly preemptively bored at the prospect of no more drinking, cast his eyes around the hall in search of something else to do or talk about. He made an interested hum when he caught sight of a few drones in the center of the room who were moving to the beat of the unremarkable music with surprising skill. With a sinking feeling, Breakdown watched Knock Out's face light up. "That'd be fun."

"I don't know about that…" Breakdown would be the first to admit that he wasn't the most coordinated mech on the best of days. It wasn't enough to prevent him from pounding Autobots into scrap, of course, but it was enough to make him less than confident in his dancing abilities.

"Come _on_." The medic tugged hard on his assistant's arm in attempt to pull him away from the wall, but the larger mech would not be moved.

"I really don't think it's a good idea."

"What are you afraid of?" the red mech goaded.

Knock Out taking the opportunity to grope him some more? The two of them drawing attention to themselves? The medic throwing a fit when he dented himself from falling on his aft? Where to start…

"Be that way, then. I'll dance by myself." The red mech let go with a huff and took off toward the middle of the hall. After only a moment, Breakdown exasperatedly scrambled after him. He'd clearly had good reason for doing so, too, as Knock Out managed all of four steps before he stumbled. The larger mech managed to catch him around the waist and gently handled him back to their stretch of wall. "Whoops," the medic mumbled with a short snigger.

His partner sighed. "Why don't we sit down?"

Knock Out glanced lazily around, apparently looking for a chair or bench or something, and looked back up at Breakdown quizzically when he failed to spot any. "Where, on the _floor_?"

"Yes?" The _Nemesis_'s assembly hall hadn't exactly been designed with relaxation or socialization in mind.

Knock Out seemed to consider it for a nanoklick. "Okay."

Breakdown didn't realize his mistake until after he'd helped his partner seat himself without falling on his face and they'd both gotten resettled, Knock Out nestled disconcertingly close. The medic resumed his earlier grip on the larger mech's arm, but this time he tugged it toward himself and _kept_ tugging until Breakdown's hand rested on the plating above his knee joint.

The blue mech immediately tried to gently jerk his hand away, his remaining eye comically wide, but Knock Out's hold didn't relent. The medic laughed lightly. "C'mon, Breakdown. Loosen up." And with that, he pulled the hand further up his thigh.

Breakdown's fingers clenched against the smooth plating. His fans had kicked up several notches in an attempt to cool his rapidly heating frame. His optic swept across the room to check for any sign that others were watching them, but the workers and warriors seemed thoroughly involved in their own activities at this point. The duo was ignored.

"It's kind of amazing, I guess, that you can still manage to be this devious when you're this overcharged."

Knock Out's thighs came together to further trap the larger mech's hand in place. "Mmm-hmm, that's me for you." He leaned his head against Breakdown's shoulder with a satisfied quirk of his lips. "You love it. Don't lie."

And he did. Which didn't make anything easier.

He really should've been trying harder to get his hand back, but Knock Out seemed content for the time being. If Breakdown clammed up again, his partner would surely just resort to something worse to tease and antagonize him. So there was nothing wrong with leaving his hand where it was for a little while. Nope.

* * *

**Notes:**

Well, there's the first half. I'm trying to finish this thing up before Botcon, so I hope to have the rest posted in a week or two.

If you spot any typos and such that slipped under the radar, feel free to point them out. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! : )


	2. Part 2

**Warnings: **DUB-CON (in the sense that an individual is incapable of consenting while intoxicated, but not in any other sense), STICKY, poorly written drunkenness, and shameless clichés.

I hate to go all srs bsns for a minute, but I feel it best to express that I am in no way approving sex with intoxicated people in any real life sense. The events of this story are portrayed only in the context of fantasy, specifically kinky giant alien robot fantasy, which, I find, is a significant enough departure from reality to avoid becoming problematic. Also, Decepticon morals are pretty warped to begin with. /disclaimer

**Notes:**

Well _that_ took a lot longer than anticipated. The bulk of it came out easy, but then filling in the gaps was like pulling teeth for some reason, and graduation and job hunting didn't help. Luckily, TFP came back and so did the writing bug. \o/

Thanks so much for your patience and encouragement, guys. The response to this little fic has been better than I could've imagined. (You're encouraged to go back and reread the first bits before this since it's been a while. : X)

* * *

Part 2

Knock Out ran his fingertips up and down Breakdown's arm.

"You can quit playing hard to get, y'know. It was fun, but now I'd rather just…" He scooted forward and rubbed his heated pelvic plating against the side of his assistant's hand. Breakdown's fans roared. It'd be so easy for him to just turn his wrist, part the medic's thighs a little—

He couldn't take any more of this; he didn't know how much longer he could stop himself. It nearly pained him to do so, but he managed to pull his hand away with a dismissive pat to Knock Out's knee. The red mech was stubborn, but Breakdown was, of course, the stronger of the two when he put in any effort.

"I think we've both had enough fun for tonight."

The medic let out sound of protest as he was pulled to his feet. Breakdown made a mildly apologetic wave of farewell to some of the vehicons from earlier as he steered his partner toward the exit—quickly, to avoid giving the other a chance to summon any resistance (and, if he were honest, himself a chance to have any second thoughts).

Thankfully the lift wasn't far. Breakdown got them inside and selected the medbay level on the touchscreen. He stood there awkwardly as their ascent started, trying to touch the medic as little as possible. The red mech seemed to feed on his discomfort. "The night is still young, you know."

Breakdown put as much affirmation into his voice as he could. "Not for you, it isn't." Meanwhile, their upward motion smoothly slowed to a stop.

Knock Out raised his chin haughtily in response, but the effect was somewhat ruined when he pitched forward as they stepped from the lift and then proceeded to have a small giggle fit.

"Yep, time to get you settled in a berth," Breakdown said, steadying the smaller mech and tugging him down the corridor.

There wasn't even a touch of subtlety in the lewd grin Knock Out turned on him then. "A berth works, if that's what you like. A couch'd work, too. Or a wall. Countertops can be nice. This one time…"

Breakdown tuned his partner out, literally. He had to dial his audio sensitivity down, trying to dispel any mental images his words had produced.

Luckily, he was able to get them both to Knock Out's quarters just beyond the medbay without the medic realizing he was being ignored. He restored his audios to normal function, hoping that Knock Out had abandoned that particular conversation topic, as he punched in the access code.

Knock Out took the initiative at this point and tugged Breakdown inside by his hand. The larger mech reasoned to himself that he really should make sure that Knock Out actually recharged, instead of getting up to something else, and let himself be tugged this time. As soon as the door shut behind them, the smaller mech pressed close to his side. "Well, we've got privacy now."

Breakdown forced his vents to cycle slowly. "That's enough, Knock Out. Just lie down and try to recharge," he insisted, nudging him toward the berth.

But the medic clung to him stubbornly. "I'll lie down if you come with me," he murmured, and with that pressed his fingers hard against the front of Breakdown's pelvic plating.

The larger mech went ramrod straight and hastily shoved him away.

After just a moment, Breakdown's posture shifted again from bewildered to hostile. "Look, Knock Out, I mean it. This isn't okay. I shouldn't even be here right now. I should have just dumped you here and let you pass out. If you hadn't been pushing me all night, I—Why can't you just stop _pushing_?" His tensile cables practically vibrated, they were so taught.

The medic's expression turned hard. He made a crumbling attempt at his usual unaffected arrogance and said, "Fine. If you're too—too _stupid_ to see what you've got, there are plenty of others." He punctuated his speech with firm pokes to Breakdown's chest plating. "Anyone on this ship would _love_ to trade places with you. I bet even _Soundwave_ wouldn't turn me—"

The red mech cut himself off abruptly when Breakdown took sudden hold of his upper arms. He looked the medic straight in the optic, his yellow gaze narrowed and his mouth tight. After Knock Out's surprise faded, he stared right back, increasingly expectant as the moment stretched. Well, Breakdown had never been able to disappoint him.

The smaller mech's ventilations hitched as Breakdown leaned down and pressed their mouths together. He felt clumsy rubbing his lip plating against Knock Out's, but he couldn't stop himself, and when the medic pressed forward and began responding without his ever present finesse, he gained a bit more confidence. As soon as Knock Out parted his lips enough, Breakdown swept his glossa inside, and the brief moan the medic let out into his mouth drove away whatever reservations he had left.

One hand went up to grip the back of the medic's helm, the other down to paw at his waist. With his arms free, Knock Out clutched at Breakdown's shoulders, leaving careless gouges in the topcoat.

Breakdown walked them back toward the berth until Knock Out's legs hit the side, then lifted the medic onto it and joined him.

The red mech let himself fall back against the berth surface but flinched when doing so jarred his tire struts.

"Ow."

He pulled them in closer to his back and shifted them upward so he could avoid straining them and lie a bit flatter. Breakdown stifled a chuckle and leaned down over the medic until their chest plating brushed.

Breakdown ran his hands all over his partner, starting at the sides of his face, over his shoulders, down the curves of his chest and the ridges of his abdomen, and over to the smooth plating of his thighs, periodically pressing quick kisses to the other's mouth. Knock Out keened. "Come _on_, Breakdown." He raised his hips in emphasis.

The larger mech paused. "Are you sure you want—" The medic interrupted him by grabbing his partner's head and crushing their mouths together again. His knee joints rubbed against Breakdown's sides.

Breakdown worked a hand down between them and finally pressed his digits against the plating between his partner's thighs. Knock Out's lower panel snapped open at his touch and _Primus_ he was so wet. He pulled away from the medic's lips temporarily to take a look, and he let the plating holding back his spike shift out of the way at the sight. He'd worried even in his fantasies about how large his fingers (let alone his other parts) were in comparison to Knock Out, but the copious amount of lubricant, already dripping from the red mech's valve and rolling down the surrounding plating toward his aft, would certainly help things.

He rubbed the tips of his digits around the small opening. Knock Out gave an impatient wriggle.

Breakdown let one rub back and forth over the valve entrance itself before giving in, pushing past the initial resistance to let the medic's heat engulf the tip of his finger. He started working the digit in and out, pressing a little deeper each time, and he could feel the calipers expanding to accommodate him as he went. Knock Out's thighs began to tremble, and it wasn't long before he was thrusting in smoothly all the way to the last joint.

"_Yes_, _just like that_." The red mech canted his hips to meet each thrust.

Breakdown just watched him—he was enthralled. The medic had lost his usual grace and poise and traded them for reckless need. And more than that, Knock Out was _his_, if only for a little while. His to watch, his to kiss, to_ touch_, as much as he wanted.

"Are you just gonna—mmm—finish me off with your fingers?" Oh, he wanted to keep this going as long as could, wanted to set the medic off with his digits, then again with his mouth, and then again with his spike. But he knew somewhere in the back of his processor that he only had so much time until his partner's operating functions called it quits for the night under the strain of all that excess charge. "C'mon, you big lug, I want you in me."

Why make him wait?

Knowing that he wouldn't be able to reach the medic's mouth with his own until they finished—thanks to the protruding shape of his torso—Breakdown ran his glossa over Knock Out's lips and tangled it with the red mech's own one last time before pulling away.

He pushed the medic's thighs open wide to accommodate his hips, gathering some more of Knock Out's lubricant with his fingers and spreading it over his spike. He gripped the medic's hip, lined the tip up with the quivering valve entrance, and slowly, _finally_, pressed inside. The way was slick and unbearably tight, everything he could have imagined and more. Knock Out let out soft, periodic moans as he was filled, optics out of focus and ventilations erratic.

Now more than ever, Breakdown wondered how his partner was even real.

The blue mech forced himself still once he noticed a decrease in give, mindful of their size difference. He was nearly fully seated, and he worried any further might be too much. "Good?" he asked, just to be sure. He cupped the side of Knock Out's face in one of his hands.

It seemed to take the medic a moment to realize that Breakdown was waiting for a response, that he'd have to come back to himself enough to formulate words. "Perfect, it's perfect. Just—" Breakdown felt the medic clench around him "—_move_. Please I can't—"

The larger mech moved quickly to oblige him, withdrawing a little and rocking back in.

"_More_."

That was the last coherent word he got out of the smaller mech for a while. He steadily increased the speed and depth of his thrusts, encouraged by Knock Out's moans and gasps all the while, and he relished the feel of the medic's legs scrabbling around his hips. The clenching around his spike increased in frequency and strength until the smaller mech gave a full-body shudder and overloaded with a yell. Breakdown tried his best to restrain himself from denting Knock Out's thighs with his grasping fingers as the medic got even slicker inside. Some more lubricant dripped down to splatter on the berth's surface.

Breakdown redoubled his pace while the smaller mech clung to him and trembled. He blurted out something embarrassing about Knock Out being beautiful—though he couldn't for his life say what the exact words were—but was thankfully only met with what might have been a slight flash of a smile. He gave a few more hard thrusts, wrapped an arm around Knock Out's waist, and released inside him, flooding the recesses of the medic's valve. Breakdown continued to hold his partner tight against him as his systems came down from the effects of overload.

Well, that had probably taken enough energy to burn off at least _some _of the smaller mech's charge.

He reluctantly let go of the smaller mech's torso and pulled out slowly. Knock Out groaned and sprawled out limply on the berth padding, and Breakdown lay out on his side next to him. The whirr of cooling fans gradually started to lessen, dotted with the occasional pop of cooling metal.

Breakdown reached out to glide his digits up and down the flat planes of Knock Out's torso for a few moments before letting the hand dip down to run his fingers through the mess of fluids around the medic's still spasming valve. Curious, he probed a digit inside and marveled a little at the lack of resistance. Knock Out let out a whimper.

"Cut it out," the red mech griped as he smacked at his partner's wrist without onlining his optics.

Breakdown chuckled but obliged him. He hesitated for a moment but then brought the finger to his mouth and sucked it clean, savoring the taste of their mixed emissions.

He indulged himself once more and pressed a quick kiss to his partner's ornamental helm. "Now get some recharge."

Knock Out mumbled something that sounded like "Don't have to tell me twice."

Apparently the medic didn't recall that he already had.

As Knock Out relaxed fully and faded out of consciousness, Breakdown resumed his gentle exploration of the smaller mech's torso. He tried futilely to hold his own recharge at bay. He'd probably come to regret all this—especially when the medic saw the state of his paint job—but for now, he was going to enjoy every last nanosecond he could.

* * *

Knock Out shifted slightly and hummed in contentment as his systems leisurely started to come online. He felt refreshed, the remaining surplus charge just enough to keep him alert and invigorated, and his valve ached pleasantly. The latter accounted for the weight and heat of another mech's limb that he felt across his abdomen. He gave his chronometer a quick check. He'd been in recharge for about a joor.

The medic stilled as his memory banks booted up fully. He quickly onlined his optics and turned his head to meet Breakdown's face, lax in recharge.

Well.

Apparently his partner hadn't been as unreceptive as he'd thought.

But what was a mech supposed to think when cycles of suggestive looks and innuendo were met with total standoffishness? (Given, there was a good chance Breakdown was just that obtuse.) Knock Out was smart enough to quit when he wasn't wanted, so of course he'd given it up as a lost cause. Nothing in the vorns that followed had given him reason to believe otherwise, either. To think, all that time wasted…

Apparently his shifting was enough to rouse his assistant. The big mech pulled him a bit closer before coming fully online. He stiffened and met Knock Out's optics with his own, his expression tense.

Time to defuse the situation; no way was he letting Breakdown close off again. He quirked a smile. "I suppose I owe you thanks for a good time."

And the big guy went straight to flustered. Damn, he was good. "No! No, I'm sorry. For— when you were—I shouldn't have done it."

The medic huffed derisively. "How noble of you." He tapped his sharp fingertips lightly against his own forearm. "Rest assured, if I had any problem with the events of last night, you'd be lucky to make it out with your other eye intact."

He'd be lying if claimed not to derive some amusement from Breakdown's nervous shifting.

"Fortunately for you, I'm not complaining."

He glanced with dread down at where patches of silver and deep blue littered the normally pristine paint of his hips and torso.

"Still, if you feel you want to make up for it, you can start by helping me buff these out," he said, indicating the paint transfers. "After a trip to the washracks. Ugh."

He felt the blue mech start to relax against him. Time to go for broke.

"And then once we're done with the duty shift this evening, perhaps you could join me in here again. It'd be recharge well lost." The hopeful way Breakdown perked up was encouraging.

"You sure?"

Knock Out rolled his optics. "Maybe not if you keep asking stupid questions." He ran his gaze deliberately down his assistant's frame. "Big, strong, and mostly obedient—what's not for me to love? Plus, you would benefit from some coaching; your technique could use improvement."

"Hey! That's not what you were saying last night." He'd gone all indignant. How cute.

"Come now, Breakdown. You didn't think I'd normally be that easy to please, did you?"

"Uh…maybe?"

Knock Out huffed and gave his assistant a flick to the forehelm, the edges of his mouth raising fondly. The larger mech rubbed at the spot with a slight frown but otherwise didn't complain.

Well, if Breakdown thought he'd been a lot to handle while inebriated, he was in for a surprise. Last night had only been the beginning.

-The End-

* * *

**More notes:**

Yep, I went with Cybertronian anti-hangovers. lol As before, feel free to point out any typos, etc. : ) I've got another BD/KO fic idea (along with some others) that won't leave my brain alone and I might end up writing, so feel free to check back once in a while.

I haven't been keeping up with FF.N's fic removal policies, but should this fic/account be targeted for deletion for some reason, I'm crossposting everything to my new AO3, which is the same username as here, and my livejournal, which is "raelling." I'm also on tumblr with that livejournal name, so feel free to say hi. ; ) It's always fun meeting new people in the fandom.

I hope the ending worked for everyone. Thanks for the lovely comments, guys, and thanks for reading!


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